A Twelve Step Process
by PhotonsBeFree
Summary: The tale of how Gillian became Dr. Foster. Rated T for very mild mentions of drug use.
1. Steps One & Two

A/N: This is a tale of how Gillian became the Dr. Foster that we know and love. There are spoilers for "Sacrifice" and "Undercover" in this author's note. At the end the of the story, there are some pretty big spoilers for "A Perfect Score," "Love Always," and "Life is Priceless."

This story is written with the following assumptions:

1. Gillian is too smart to have married either some lecherous villain or a man she didn't love.

2. Gillian is too smart to not have picked up on Alec's lies.

3. If Alec had cheated on her, Gillian is smart enough to have figured it out.

The result is a storyline in which Gillian falls in love with Alec, and Alec doesn't cheat on her.

Have I scared you away yet? Well, you should know that there are twelve chapters in this story, and since the first ten are a little short, I thought I'd post them as five two-part chapters (so Chapter 1 is actually Chapters 1 & 2, and so on) until I get to the eleventh and twelfth chapters, which will be posted separately. So, you will be able to read the beginning and end of this story within seven days. If you're confused, just put this story on your alerts and ignore what I just typed. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own any television shows. Not one.

And before we begin, I'd like to thank the wonderful recoilandgrace, who not only helped me edit this, but also convinced me that this story was worth posting. :)

* * *

_A Twelve-Step Process_

Step One

Gillian could feel the sharp stings of nervousness as she walked down the steps to the massive double doors. The handle was squeaky and the door was heavy, but after a few tries she managed to pull it open to reveal a dank, big room that was bare except for twelve folding chairs, a rolling chalkboard, and one lonely piece of chalk.

This place had been a school, once. She was standing in what used to be a gym, though the basketball hoops had been taken down a long time ago. The only hint of this place's former life came from the traces of a three-point line that had so far managed to cheat the ravages of time. Now, the wood floor was rotting and covered in dust and dirt, and it squeaked under her sneakers as she took a breath and made the trek to the center of the room. Once she stood surrounded by those twelve chairs, she took another deep breath, which turned out to be a poor decision when her lungs filled with dust and made her cough.

When a police siren went off in the background, disturbing the almost morbid silence, Gillian jumped a full inch off of the ground, then made herself calm down. She had been in worse places, and she had definitely been in grimier ones. The fear that was bubbling inside of her wasn't from where she was, but from what she was now expected to do. She let go of the bag she was carrying, realizing only now that she had been gripping it tightly enough to make the handles damp. She gulped, convincing herself that the action was a symbol of swallowing her fears, and took out a book. Inside the front cover, she retrieved and unfolded a handwritten letter.

_ Gillian,_

_ Thanks again for filling in for me. The group knows what to do—you're just the referee. You'll do fine, just remember what you know. Everything you don't know is in the Basic Text._

_ Dr. Kinnon_

She eyed the semi-circle of chairs and sat down in the center, putting the open book in her lap. Her heart raced as she frantically turned the pages. She felt like a mouse being chased by a cat composed of eleven human beings who would show up before she could prepare herself. The damp marks she made on the page testified to the fact that her palms hadn't stopped sweating. She silently ordered herself to be calm, willing her heart rate to go back to normal as she took regular, even breaths. She had the book right there in her hands, and hadn't books always told her how to handle problems? She clutched it like a life preserver and prayed silently that she at least wouldn't make anybody worse.

She jumped again when she heard a low voice right over her head. The shock had sent the book flying onto the grubby floor, but she didn't dare move to retrieve it. Instead, her eyes flicked upward, revealing to her a tall, slim man with glasses and neat, dark hair. He wasn't exactly what she had expected in a place like this—he was dressed like a businessman. And a successful one, if that suit was as expensive as it looked. He smiled at her as he bent down, picked up the book, and happily handed it to its owner.

It wasn't until they locked eyes that she felt overwhelmed a bit by how handsome he was. She forced herself to sit up straight and tried not to show the fear she felt.

He smiled again and outstretched a hand.

"Hi, you look new. Is this your first time?"

She started to speak, then realized she didn't have any words. He waited patiently as she found them.

"Yes, uh, well no. I'm Gillian, Dr. Kinnon is my mentor? He couldn't make it today, so he asked me to fill in." She took the hand that he offered and shook it, feeling a very strong, masculine handshake in return. He took a seat next to her.

"Nice to meet you, Gillian. I'm Alec Foster."

There was something about his smile that felt very compelling, as if it was drawing her closer to him. She took another glance at his suit coat and tie, compared it with her oversized Duke sweatshirt and faded jeans, and decided that she had never felt so underdressed in her life.

"So, uh, did you just come from work?" she asked.

It was six o'clock, and asking about work seemed a reasonable thing to do. It was neutral, non-judgmental question on a very uncontroversial topic. It was a much better thing to say than, oh, something like '_So, what brings you to Narcotics Anonymous?'  
_

What _did_ bring a man like that to a place like this?

He smiled that smile again. "Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that. I just finished a rally at Duke University for Harry Smith. I'm on his campaign staff."

"You were at the rally?" She lit up like a Christmas tree. "I was just there! Your guy gave a pretty good speech."

"I'm glad you liked the speech." He dipped his head in modest gesture. "I'm the one who wrote it." A gracious nod. "So you're interested in the political process?"

"Sort of. I'm interested in the people that make up the process. I like to see how a good public speaker can affect a crowd. Besides, I can say I was there if he ever becomes president."

"Oh, so you're a psychology major?" He cast his eyes over her body. "Let's see . . . tired eyes, baggy clothes, ink-stained hands—you must be working on your master's."

She laughed. "Doctorate, actually." Was she blushing? "I promise that I clean up pretty well." She regretted the words the moment she said them. Who said things like that?

He gave her another look. "Oh, trust me, I can tell. But I like this look for you; it's very appropriate for a student. Why waste your money on clothes when you spend all of your time in the library anyway?"

She thought back to the morning she had spent in the periodical section and laughed.

"You sound like a man who knows the territory."

"Oh, yes. You should have seen me when I was finishing up my master's at UCLA. I stopped shaving entirely my last year. Every day was t-shirts and sweatpants."

"I find that hard to believe," she said, taking mental note of his strong, cleanly-shaven chin. "You don't look like you've ever worn a t-shirt in your life."

"Ah, well." His face fell. "I was using back then. A lot of things about me were different."

Gillian froze, unsure of what she was supposed to do next. His statement wasn't exactly a revelation, considering that they were at an NA meeting, but it didn't make the situation any less awkward.

"How long have you been clean?" she finally said. His eyes told her that the question was okay.

"It's been a little over four and a half years. I had a professor who caught me snorting in the bathroom. She dragged me to a place just like this."

"That sounds like a good professor."

He chuckled. "I owe her my life, really. When you start using in public places, you're at the end of your rope. I was a mess."

The silence was almost comfortable this time. Contemplative, even. After a few seconds, he turned his body to face her.

"You've never used, have you?"

She lowered her head as she shook it. "No. People generally don't try to sell drugs to the debate team. Not that kind, anyway."

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Good for you. Trust me, sometimes being the nerd is a blessing. You don't know how lucky you are to be spared from putting your life back together." He looked up and around at the room. "Speaking of which, where's the rest of the group? It's well after six."

"Oh, the meeting doesn't start until six fifteen."

"What? But the poster said . . ."

"Dr. Kinnon puts six on the sign so that he can get to know the new people before the meeting starts."

"Ah."

Another pause.

"Hey," he said, leaning in a bit closer, "I know this is a little out of the blue, but I've never been to this part of the country before, and I was hoping you could give me an idea of a good place to get some dinner."

Wait, she knew that tone of voice.

"Are you . . . asking me out?"

It wasn't that she didn't find him attractive. That was definitely not the case. What surprised her was that he seemed to be attracted to _her_. He had just told her that she looked tired, hadn't he? What he hadn't mentioned was that her clothes were rumpled and she wasn't even wearing any makeup. Oh, no.

He must be high.

No, that wasn't it. She'd studied the symptoms of drug abuse—he wasn't showing any. He was calm and collected, and on closer inspection, she found his eyes were slightly dilated, but not bloodshot. Maybe he was _really _desperate for female companionship. She was about to tell him that she wasn't that kind of girl.

"Would asking you out be a bad idea? You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"

She almost shut him down right then and there. She even had a few excuses handy, most involving the word "professional." He'd see through it, but it would work. She was just about to tell him when . . .

"I'm free for dinner."

She was confused at the words that had jumped off of her tongue. She was about to take them back when he said:

"Great. What time?"

She found herself contemplating the time it would take for a shower, hair, and makeup. She tried to think of a way to weasel her way out of it, but instead, she said:

"Nine?"

Her squeaky suggestion seemed to agree with Alec. "Sounds good. You pick a place, and I'll come and get you. We can go anywhere you want."

Whatever response Gillian would have made was put on hold when the first group member peeked through the double doors. She looked at her watch—six fifteen. Show time.

* * *

Step Two

"Wow, you weren't kidding when you talked about cleaning up well."

Gillian enjoyed the look on Alec's face from the other side of the threshold. He looked absolutely gobsmacked.

"We must be going somewhere nice," he said.

The truth of the matter was that she hated dressing up like this. High heels, blush, and curling irons were things better left to teenagers and people who had time and energy to waste in front of a mirror. When she'd gotten back to her apartment, she'd almost decided against going at all. But she couldn't remember the last time she'd had something besides mac and cheese for dinner, and it wasn't like her companion wasn't pleasant to look at.

It was her roommates who got her to wear the sleek black pumps and sparkly black dress. Well, to be honest, she had been bombarded by all three of them as soon as she had walked in the door, and they had all taken turns helping her prepare for the evening. Everything she was wearing belonged to one of them or another, and Gillian felt a little bit like a dressed turkey. Somewhere between hair and makeup, they had convinced her that she should make the most of Alec's extremely vague offer, and she had booked a place at a restaurant she had never been able to afford. But he _had_ said she could go anywhere. Besides, her roommates had reasoned, she had to find a place that matched the dress.

"I made reservations at Luigi's; I hope that's okay. I really need a night out."

To her relief, Alec seemed pleased. "It's not a problem at all. I love Italian."

As Alec opened the door for her, Gillian found herself in a trance. Luigi's was a nice contrast to the dank basement where they had met earlier. The lighting, the live music, the dessert cart—Gillian was starting to wonder if she'd ever want to leave. The maître d' showed them to a nice, secluded booth and handed them menus. Alec surprised her by ordering a nice bottle of wine (she knew nothing about wine, she only knew that the maître d' seemed very impressed), and asking her if they wanted to start with some dessert first.

Okay, she just might have to marry this guy.

It was at that moment that Gillian had to remind herself that the suave, well-dressed, good-looking man across from her was more than that. This man had been a cocaine addict, once. When the wine arrived, she swirled it around in the glass and wondered what on Earth she was doing. What sane person lets a man pick her up from an NA meeting? She knew, better than most, the psychological effects involved. Sure, four and a half years without a hit was a good sign, but it was only one step in a journey that would take him the rest of his life.

"Are you going to try it?"

She looked up at him. "Hmmmm?"

"The wine. Are you going to try it, or are you going to just keep playing with it?"

"Oh, sorry." She swirled it around one last time before taking a sip. She hoped he wouldn't ask her for her opinion on it—she was sure that she didn't have one.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"No, it's nice."

"I didn't mean the wine. I mean . . ." His eyes darted around suspiciously, as if to make sure no one was spying on them. "I mean, what we talked about in the meeting. It bothers you, right?"

"Well . . ."

"Because I can promise you that those days are behind me. That's why I go to the meetings."

"Alec, I don't know if I know you well enough to talk about this."

"Can I just promise you that it's not something that you'll have to worry about?"

She was about to respond when she noticed that he had taken her hand in his.

"What are you doing?"

He recoiled immediately. "Sorry. I didn't mean to . . ."

"No, it's alright."

"It's just that I feel like we have a connection and . . ."

"Alec, it's okay." She reached for his hand to prove her point. When they made contact, he traced lazy patterns on her skin with his free fingers.

He was right about there being a connection. There was something about earnestness of his expressions that she found very attractive, and she couldn't deny the way she felt when they touched. She couldn't guess at what he saw in her, because from where she was standing, they lived in two different worlds: politics and reality. He was obviously a moneyed individual, and she definitely wasn't. He was connected and important; she was nobody. He would be acquainted with an entire way of living that she had only seen in movies.

And then there was this problem that he had, which was yet another world he lived in. She had only visited that world for a short time, and she hardly knew what to make of it. But he had been open and honest with her from the beginning, and even now, he wasn't pretending that the cocaine addict in him was gone forever. And didn't everybody have a sinister speck of evil that lay hidden deep in the soul, the kind that wouldn't surface until years later, when you found out that the person you knew was a fantasy? Didn't everybody have demons inside of them? Well, Alec had already named his. She had known him for only a few hours, but she knew exactly what to expect. In the strangest way, that made her feel safe with him.

By the time the dinner was over, Gillian had never eaten so much food in her life. Alec had seen to it that dessert had bookended the affair, and made sure to ask for anything else she wanted. As they moved from polite conversation to something deeper, and he asked about everything from her family to her faith, she felt the connection between them deepening into something palpable. It was like she _knew _him, better and more intimately than anyone she could think of.

When he paid the bill (and she felt pangs of guilt), he stood up, offered her his arm, and escorted her to the car. When he walked her to her door and she invited him inside, he shook his head and leaned forward to peck her affectionately on the cheek.

"I should get going; I have a lot of campaign work to do. Thanks for showing me around town, Gillian."

With a smile, he turned to leave, and she felt the pain of his absence already. But he stopped, then turned back to face her.

"Hey, I uh, I'd like to be able to call you sometime, if that's okay."

She smiled. "Of course."

She found a pen in her purse and wrote seven digits on the base of his palm.

"I'm going to be moving around a lot until the election, but I'll do what I can to keep in touch. Goodnight, Gillian." This time, when he leaned in for a second peck, she wanted to grab the collar of his coat and redirected his lips so they would rest on hers.

But she chickened out.

"Goodnight, Alec."

* * *

A/N: I actually did a lot of research for this story, from trying to figure out when Gillian would have been in college to learning about Narcotics Anonymous (if anyone got on my computer and looked at my browser history, they would probably be very concerned for my welfare!).

For those who are interested, these first few chapters are set in 1996, and in the real world, Alec would be campaigning for Bob Dole instead of the fictional Harry Smith. The opposing candidate would, of course, be incumbent Bill Clinton.

On another note, Dr. Kinnon, Gillian's professor, is named after Jimmy Kinnon, one of the founders of Narcotics Anonymous. The Basic Text that Dr. Kinnon references in his note is the term for the NA handbook, similar to the Big Book for Alcoholics Anonymous.


	2. Steps Three & Four

A/N: Just thought I'd poke my head back in and wish you all a happy Easter! To celebrate, this chapter is a little early. :D

* * *

Step 3

She had walked into her apartment wondering if she had stumbled into a fairy tale. At least, that's how it sounded when she told the story to her roommates, who begged for every detail. She spent an hour recounting the food, the music, and the conversation until the other girls were sure that Gillian had just met Prince Charming. But when they asked her how they met in the first place, she wasn't sure what to tell them. You don't chance upon Prince Charming at a meeting for coke addicts, and it is supposed to be anonymous, right? So she said that Dr. Kinnon had introduced them, and that was enough to satisfy their curiosity.

The next morning, when the black dress was back in its place and she had to return to life as usual, it almost felt like it had never happened at all. She still had papers to grade and classes to teach, and she had to get at least something done on her dissertation. She took a look at herself in the mirror, once again in her sweatshirt and jeans, and sighed as she went back to her daily grind.

She didn't expect him to call her that next day. She certainly didn't expect him to start calling her every night from different locations along the campaign trail. Yet, she found herself racing home from the library every night so that could hear his voice. Before Alec, she had told people that she didn't have enough time to date, and now, wasn't that what she was doing? Wasn't she dating him through a phone line? All she really knew was that she couldn't wait to hear the phone ring, and hear some fascinating story about the places he saw and the people he had met.

The nightly phone calls went on for months, each conversation lasting until the early hours of morning. Sometimes, Gillian would wake up with the phone still in her hand. It annoyed her roommates to no end, but she didn't care. He taught her about politics and she would tell him about her studies in psychology, but they also discussed everything in between—art, pop culture, romance, literature. She was surprised with how much they had in common, and how she never grew tired of talking to him.

Then, one day, Alec's voice grew serious.

"Gillian, I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

A favor? What could he possibly need from her when she was in North Carolina and he was in Nebraska?

"Depends. What do you need?."

"I want you to visit me."

"What?"

"There's a formal ball in D. C. on election night. I was hoping you'd be my date."

She almost dropped the phone.

"Alec, I don't think I'm the kind of girl for that kind of party. That dress I wore to Luigi's isn't even mine."

"If I could take care of the dress and your flight, could you come?"

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself in a ball gown, surrounded by politicians and reporters. All she could see was a tired, frumpy grad student with an armful of books blinking at the flashing lights. Her stomach flipped.

"I really don't think I'd make good arm candy. I'm sure it would be easier and less expensive if you asked someone else."

"I don't want to go with anyone else."

In the back of her mind, Gillian knew that their conversation would eventually lead to what she had to say next. At some point, she would have to make the fairy tale end.

"Listen, Alec, I don't go to fancy balls. I'm not poised and I never know what to say. I don't know anything about wine, or makeup, or dresses, or anything remotely related to that kind of lifestyle. I'm not like you at all."

"That's exactly why I want to spend the evening with you."

"Alec . . ."

"Gillian, I promise you that I have everything taken care of. I'll buy you a flight, and we can spend the whole day helping you get ready. I've already scheduled an appointment for your hair, nails, and makeup, and we can buy you a dress when you get here."

"No, I can't accept that. It's too much of your time and money."

"It's more than worth it if I get to see you again. Just listening to your voice over the phone is driving me crazy. I'm willing to do what it takes to get you here."

"I . . . I still don't know."

She put the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she ruffled through the papers on her desk. When she found her calendar, she looked at the date in question and frowned.

"Besides, it's on a Tuesday, right? I have to teach a class the next morning, and I've got a meeting with Dr. Kinnon that I can't get out of."

"I'll get you home for your bedtime, I promise. Besides, don't you want to meet the man who could be your next president? And if nothing else, you should come for the food."

"What kind of food?"

* * *

Step Four

Even as she walked off of the plane, she couldn't believe what she was doing. An hour ago, she had been in North Carolina, and now she was in the nation's capitol, armed with nothing but a purse, looking for a man she hadn't met in person since that night over four months ago. As she walked towards the gate, she saw the waiting faces and scanned for the expensive suit that Alec had worn the last time they were together. She soon realized that it was nowhere to be found. Instead, she saw a man with the same glasses and neatly combed hair, but this time wearing a faded UCLA tee, ripped jeans, and sneakers. He smiled brightly when he saw her and leaned forward to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"How was your flight?"

"You're wearing jeans."

He looked at the article of clothing in question and returned his gaze to her. "Yeah, I am."

"I didn't even think that a person like you would own a pair of jeans."

Alec's smile widened. "Today, Gill, you're going to see exactly what kind of guy I am."

It wasn't until they parked in front of his apartment that she understood what he had meant. She had expected a gated community with some sort of security detail and a celebrity neighbor, but she found herself in front of a dirty, neglected building that wasn't very different from the abandoned gym where they had met.

"You _live_ here?" She put her hand over her mouth when the words slipped out. He put his arm around her and squeezed.

"Not what you were expecting, was it?"

"Well . . ." How could she put it? " I mean, not that there's anything wrong with it. It's just with the suits and the restaurant, I just thought . . ."

"I had to eat peanut butter and jelly for a month to afford that dinner."

"What? How did you afford my plane ticket?"

He shrugged. "I had some frequent flyer miles from all of the traveling I've been doing this summer. Didn't cost me a dime."

"But the dress you were going to buy, and the hair appointment . . ."

"Don't worry about that now, it's all taken care of. I just wanted you to see the man behind the curtain. Come on in."

The inside of his apartment was tiny, but clean. It was a studio space with a bed in one corner and a stove in the other. Besides the haphazard collection of papers and books in various piles along the floor, the only other object in the room was a cheap kitchen table and two chairs. She saw a door for the bathroom and another for a closet, but that was it.

"I'm so confused," she finally said.

"Confused, or disappointed?"

She searched her feelings so she could be sure of her answer.

"No, not disappointed. Mostly confused, maybe a little betrayed?"

Alec returned her uneasy look with a chuckle.

"I'm sorry about the deception. I want you to know that I didn't lie to you; I just let you believe what you wanted."

"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you make me think that you were rich?"

He shrugged. "I try to make everybody believe that I'm rich. It's all part of the game. My line of work is seventy-five percent appearance, and only about twenty-five percent results. So I play the game."

She dragged her eyes from the bare room to examine his face.

"And the truth?"

He sighed. "The truth is that I'm the son of a single mom who owns a hair salon in a small town. The truth is that I have no idea who my father is, and I grew up in an apartment just like this one. But the real truth, the answer to the question I see inside of your head, is that I'm the same guy you've been talking to over these past few months."

"Except you lied to me."

He shook his head. "I would have told you if you asked. You never wanted to talk about money."

"That's because I don't have any."

"See? Neither do I! It's just one more thing we have in common." He placed his hands on both of her arms when she rolled her eyes at him. "Look, if you want to leave and never speak to me again, I can book you a flight home. I'm sorry that I misled you, but when we met, I was scared that you wouldn't like me if you knew."

"You thought I wouldn't like you if you didn't have money?" She was disgusted at the thought.

"I'm a guy, Gill. Guys are stupid like that sometimes—caveman instincts. But I knew that when you came here, I'd have to come clean. So do you want to stay, or should we head back to the airport?"

At that moment, Gillian honestly didn't know. She knew she should probably be furious about him deceiving her, but hadn't all of his money been what she was so worried about in the first place? Wasn't she feeling just the slightest bit relieved that he hadn't brought her to some stuffy mansion?

"How many people know about this? Your double life, I mean."

"Well, there's my mother, and there's you. I only tell the women that I love."

"And you really think that this is healthy?"

He seemed pleased that she wasn't walking out the door. "It's just for a little while, until I can land a job that will get me the salary. I need Then, this part of my life will be over. But I can't get the job if I don't have the suit. A psychologist should know that."

"I don't know if you're really smart, or just really sick."

"Well," he said, suppressing a laugh, "if it's the latter, then I've got you to help me. So are you going to stay?"

Gillian's head was spinning so fast that it was only now that she realized that she had missed something vital.

"Wait, you love me?"

"Yes."

"And you want me to stay?"

"Yes."

The wave of emotions that was crashing over her was unsettling. Anger, hurt, surprise, relief—now this? She had to wait for the wave to pass before she would be able to give a sensible answer.

And then he flashed that same smile that she had seen the first time she met him.

"Well, I hear that the food at the party is worth staying for."

A pained smile was offered in response as he offered her his arm.

"In that case, do you want to see what I have planned for you?"

She hadn't told him that she loved him back, and she could see that he was disappointed. She would have told him if she knew one way or the other. It was just too much to take in at once. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed onto his arm tightly and let him escort her back to the car.

* * *

A/N: When I was trying to think of how to describe Alec's mother, I thought of a woman I know who owns a hair salon, from the small town I used to live in. You'll probably never read this, but Debbie, this chapter is dedicated to you. :)


	3. Steps Five & Six

Step Five

The car ride was silent, something Gillian was very thankful for. She had so many things to think about. For the first time in her life, the nerdy girl from the debate team was noticed, singled out, loved. The man in the driver's seat next to her had been a stranger, once. And yet, he loved her. He could have kept up the charade for much longer than he had—he'd ended it because he _chose _to tell her. He ended it because she was precious to him. There were people who thought of her as gifted, and others who thought she was nice. Her roommates told her that she was easy to get along with, her friends said she was dependable, and her parents often reminded her that she did them proud. No one had ever looked at her the way that Alec did, as if she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And what had she ever done to deserve it? Hadn't she tricked him into taking her out for an evening he couldn't afford? And wasn't she asking him to do the same now?

"What's going on?" she said.

"I'm sorry?"

"What's going on here?"

"Well," Alec said, the confusion showing plainly on his face, "I'm driving you to Nordstrom's. I thought I told you."

"No, that's not what I mean. What's going on with us? Why are you doing this for me?"

If anything, he seemed more perplexed. "I thought I made that very clear in the apartment."

She didn't know why, but she was on the verge of tears. It felt silly, but for some reason or another, she just wanted to fall apart.

"Why me? Why did you ask me to dinner after the meeting? Why did you keep calling me? Why do you want me here? Why?"

The sobbing came before she could hold it back. It was illogical and completely ridiculous, but the tears refused to stop coming. Wasn't now the time to be happy? Wouldn't any girl be thrilled to be loved by someone like Alec? It was her stupid scientific brain that was causing all of the problems. It couldn't understand why this outcome was the result of the variables that had been presented, and it had to know why. Their story had turned from fantasy to reality, and in reality, it had to make sense. It had to.

She looked up and saw that Alec had pulled over. She flinched at first when she felt his hand stroking her mousy hair, but after a few seconds, it felt very comforting. Then, she felt his other arm take her by the shoulder and pull her towards him. The car was silent except for Gillian's painful, gasping sobs. When her tears gave way to Alec's gentle presence and faded into stillness, he pulled back to look at her.

"I'm so sorry, Gill." He gently brushed away a tear with his thumb. "If you don't understand how wonderful you are, then it must because I haven't told you. I can talk about platforms and strategies until your ears fall off, but I'm not very good with the rest."

"Can you just tell me what you could possibly see in me?" Her words were strained and halting.

His eyebrows furrowed and he swallowed. "You know," he said, "I told you before that my clothes are all part of a game?" He waited for her to nod. "I guess the truth is that it's more than that. They say that the clothes make the man, and I find that when I put on a good suit I can do things I didn't think I could. Why don't we find you a dress and see how you feel after that?"

Before she could point out that he hadn't answered the question, he squeezed her one more time and kissed her on the forehead. As he turned the key in the ignition, he shot her a glance that she had never seen before: admiration.

When she stood in the changing room, Gillian reminded herself for the umpteenth time how much she hated shopping for clothes. Alec had convinced her that she just needed to know what to look for, and had enlisted the help of a very knowledgeable employee while he went to go look at ties. Her new companion was an overweight woman in her fifties who had looked Gillian up and down, told her very clearly what worked with her body type, and walked off. Gillian resisted crying this time. After looking for over an hour, she had very little to show for her efforts except for three selections and a headache. Since Alec had insisted that she call him when she was ready to try things on, she now found herself in a changing room, knowing that as soon as she stepped outside, she would be judged. She was looking very sternly at herself in the mirror when she heard a woman's voice.

"So, who are you here for?"

"My girlfriend," Alec answered. "We're going to a work party tonight."

"Oh, I see. She must be a lucky woman to have such a patient man like yourself. My husband is in the food court right now."

"No, she's the patient one. She's a genius psychologist who has this way of working with people that you wouldn't believe. She has this friend who's addicted to drugs, and no matter what he does, she doesn't give up on him. I'm the one who's lucky. Besides, she's absolutely gorgeous. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Alec had wanted to know if she loved him, while Gillian had wondered what he saw in her. With one more glance in the mirror she found that she had answers to both questions.

"Oh, wow."

"Do you like it?"

"I, uh, yeah. I think my lips are numb."

She was wearing a deep red floor-length ball gown that looked like something someone would wear to the Oscars. It was snug in a comfortable way, like a tight hug that made it impossible for her to slouch. She was surprised at how good it made her feel, both the soft fabric and the way Alec was looking at her. Maybe being at this party wouldn't be so bad.

And suddenly, Gillian-the-doctoral-candidate was standing at the check-out counter buying all three dresses she had picked out. Dress buying, she discovered, was somewhat a scientific process. Both her features and the features of clothes were just variables that, when combined with good judgement, created a very positive result. She could handle that.

The rest of her day with Alec felt like a crash course in princess college. After buying shoes, then getting her nails, hair, and makeup done, she felt like she had crammed for an exam. When they finally arrived, Alec parked the car and paused after turning off the ignition.

"Gillian, there's something I need to talk to you about before we go in there."

"What is it?"

For the first time since she'd met him, he looked nervous. She saw that his hands were shaky and his voice was wavering. She didn't know what was going on, but she was sure that she didn't like it.

"When—when I introduce you to people, they're going to ask us how we met," he said. Gillian let go of a breath now that she realized what he was afraid of. "They don't know about . . . my addiction. They _can't_ know. I've got a job waiting for me after this, and if they find out, my career will be ruined."

"It's okay, Alec." She reached over and stroked his arm to show him that she wasn't going anywhere.

"No, Gill. It's not. This habit of mine has ruined my whole life. It's the reason I can never run for office. My success in the public sector is completely dependent on the fact that my secrets stay secret. So they can't find out that we met at an NA meeting. I'm so sorry, Gill. I hate that I have to ask you to lie for me."

"Alec, I said that it's okay." She grabbed one of his hands and put it in hers. "When my roommates asked, I told them that Dr. Kinnon introduced us, and it's almost the truth. I wouldn't have been at that meeting if he hadn't sent me to cover for him."

The tense feeling in the air dissipated when Alec took a breath and let himself relax. Gillian thought she could see him change back into the real Alec—the strong, confident man she had come all of this way for.

"Gill, that's perfect. Again, I'm really sorry that you have to do this."

"I don't mind. You have the right to keep your secrets, especially since you've been clean for so long."

He took in a breath and let it out as a sigh.

"Well, shall we go?"

Gillian envied the composure that Alec had as they walked into the ballroom. If today had been a crash course, she was taking her final exam. The nervousness faded a little when she saw how the men in the room were looking at her. If the looks she was getting were any indication, she had aced the test. She clung tightly to Alec's arm as he introduced her to senators and generals, who seemed more than interested in hearing all about her dissertation. When the polls started closing and the results started coming in, all the news was bad for Alec's candidate, and yet, Gillian was getting nothing but smiles.

It was such a strange sensation. On one hand, it was thrilling to meet so many important people and flattering to get so much attention. But Gillian was very much aware that under normal circumstances, these same people wouldn't give her any more than a passing glance, much let her less drone on and on about the firefighters she was counseling while they were at a party for a losing side. Was it all just because she was playing Alec's game? Was this what it felt like when she was winning? As good as all of this felt, it also made her feel a little guilty for fooling them all. Maybe soon it would be time for Cinderella to take off the glass slippers and run for it.

But not yet.

Somewhere between the dinner, dancing, meeting, and greeting, Alec grabbed her hand and whisked her to a balcony that overlooked the capitol building.

"I still can't believe that I'm here," she said, enjoying the warmth of Alec's arm when he put it around her shoulders. "I never thought I'd end up in D. C. on election night. In a ballgown, of all things."

He squeezed her tighter. "This town is better with you in it. You should come here more often."

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head, "I don't think this place agrees with me."

"What's wrong? I thought you were having a great time."

She managed to give him half of a smile and a sigh.

"I was, but for a girl like me, this is just weird. It's like I put on this dress and everybody treats me differently. It's a joke."

"No, it's not—you're still you. The only thing the dress does is make it easier for people to see who you really are."

"And who's that?"

"Why don't you take a look at those eyes those senators were making at you, and you tell me. You want to know what you are? You're who everybody wants to be, or be with. You didn't have to change to make that happen, you just had to present yourself in a way that commanded attention."

"So deep down, you think I'm like this? Flashy and superficial?"

"No, deep down, you're beautiful. Breathtaking, even. All you're doing is taking what's on the inside and showing it on the outside." He turned and nodded at the party going on behind them. "Those people you met? They're the superficial ones. They judge you based on your appearance, so what you have to do is present yourself in a way that shows them who you are. For the first time, Gillian, the whole world can see you."

Alec had barely finished his sentence when Gillian grabbed his tie and kissed him. It was the kind of thing she had never had the courage to do before, but it was fun. And liberating. When she let him up for air, he cleared his throat and licked his lips.

"That—that was not what I expected."

She smiled and let herself fall into his eyes.

"I love you," she said.

Her words had shocked him even more than the kiss had.

"I didn't expect that, either."

Her grin stretched out from ear to ear, and she found herself playing with the tie she still had in her hand. Then, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him again. When she pulled herself away from him, they locked eyes.

"You realize that this is only our second date, right?"

In the back of their minds, they both knew that Gillian was going to have to leave in the next few minutes to catch her flight back to Durham, and that Alec's candidate didn't have any chance at being the next U. S. president, but it seemed to Gillian that there was so much to celebrate. In the background, the party for the winning candidate was shooting off fireworks, and Gillian and Alec were kissing like the show was all for them.

When Alec pulled away from her lips and rested his chin on her head, he stroked her hair the same way he had earlier in the car.

"Gill, before I forget, there's another reason why I wanted you here tonight."

She was going to look up at him, but she couldn't bear to create any distance between them. "What is it?"

"Today's my fifth anniversary. I've been clean for five years today, Gill."

"Happy anniversary, my love," she said.

* * *

Step Six

Somehow, Gillian stepped out of the airport a completely different person than she was when she'd entered it less than eighteen hours ago. She felt like she had been someone else, once. She wasn't sure if it was her, or of it was the whole world that had changed. All she was sure of was that it was easier to stand up taller, to hold her head a little higher, and to see everything as just a little brighter. When she got into her apartment, her roommates noticed the change immediately, but she didn't mind.

Now, the only dark cloud in Gillian's sky was that Washington D. C. seemed so far away.

The phone calls resumed, the only real difference being that since he now had a permanent address, she could call him whenever she wanted. Not only was talking to Alec the best part of her day, but it gave her ideas as to how to make the rest of her life better.

It didn't happen all at once. One day, she had some cancelled appointments and found herself picking out an outfit at the outlet mall. Other times, she would stop in at the salon on her way home. The change was so gradual that anyone hardly noticed, but after a few months, stopped being the kind of girl who only wore jeans and sweatshirts. She started being stylish.

She was careful not to become the kind of person who obsessed over makeup and clothes. She didn't spend a lot of time in front of the mirror or besiege her roommates with questions about her appearance. She didn't even see clothes shopping as any more exciting than shopping for groceries. To Gillian, the way she dressed wasn't her identity, and it didn't change her self-worth—it was just a way of controlling how people saw you. Alec saw it as a game, but she began to see it as a kind of language, a way of expressing herself to the people around her. When she was happy, she wore red or white. On days she really, really missed Alec, she wore black or navy blue. She saved pink for days when she was heading into a battle that she knew she'd win. On Saturdays, she was back into her old jeans.

The effect this change had on Gillian was extraordinary. She found that it was easier for her to speak up when she needed to, as if she had finally captured something that had always eluded her—confidence. Not cockiness, she was certain to stay away from that, but an honest belief that she had what it took to do what she had to do. She also found that the more confident she was, the more her patients seemed to trust her. It appeared that everything was coming up roses, and it was all because of Alec, a man she found herself growing closer to more and more each day.

It was hard to pinpoint when exactly she finished transitioning from one version of herself into another. She picked up the pieces to her new self one at a time, and just assembled as she went. At some moment, whether it was when she finished her dissertation, or when she received her doctorate, or when she stood across Alec at the altar, she stopped being Gillian and became Dr. Gillian Foster. Gillian was a smart, nerdy girl who kept her head down and doubted herself, but Dr. Foster had the courage to go out of her shell and help people. Dr. Foster could land a job and move into the city where she fell in love. Dr. Foster could change lives and be with the man she wanted to be with forever.

It wasn't until one day, when she was doing the dishes and Alec came from behind to hold her, that she realized that they had only actually spent a total of five days of their entire dating life in the same city. There was the day they met, then election night, then the night he proposed. The two other days were the weekend he was able to come down and help with wedding plans. And yet, the thought didn't bother her. It was strange how well you could get to know someone just by hearing their voice.

She would feel it insensitive to talk about it in public, but she felt like the first year of their marriage was easy. It was like they just fit together, like every day he made her a better person.

It was that first year that Alec taught her the true secret to his success: balancing a budget. Since they both had only starting salaries to pay for their expenses, which included thousands of dollars worth of student loans, money would obviously be tight. Add to that the image they were both trying to pull off (or, as she would put it, the eloquence in which they were trying to speak the language of style), and you had a conundrum that they would have to work through together. So, the Fosters had the same studio apartment that Alec had showed her before their second date. The only real difference, besides the limited closet space, was that it was now decorated in a way that strategically made it look as presentable as possible, a feat achieved by the Saturdays they spent at flea markets and swap meets. Monday through Friday, the Fosters would go to their separate offices dressed like rich professionals, but on the weekends, they put on their worn jeans and spent every moment together. It seemed like the perfect way to spend the rest of her life.

"Mrs. Foster?" he said one morning as a shrill beep filled their entire apartment, "Mrs. Foster, it's time for you to get up."

She groaned and rubbed her eyes, squinting at the ceiling. "That's _Doctor _Foster to you, Sir."

"No," he answered, rolling onto his knees and crawling until his body was hovering over hers, "the rest of the world sees you as Doctor Foster. Somebody has to call you _Missus _Foster, and it might as well be me."

Then he leaned down to kiss the smile she was making at him.

"You know, _Mister_ Foster," she said, in between kisses, "I worked very hard for the title, and Duke University might not appreciate your lack of deference."

"Deference?" He moved from her mouth to her neck. "I would think that the title they gave you is nothing compared to the one you got from me."

She laughed and pretended to push him away. "Oh, is that so? And how did you arrive at that conclusion?" Now, he'd made his way back to her mouth, something she didn't entirely object to.

"Well, Duke gives out doctorates to what, three hundred students per year? I only give the title of missus to one person in the whole of my existence. It's something of a once in a lifetime achievement."

She laughed as she pushed him away for real this time, giving him one long, savory kiss before heading into the shower. "I think I see your point," she called out behind her, "Missus Foster it is, but only because I seem to be especially fond of you."


	4. Steps Seven & Eight

Step Seven

In purely objective terms, Dr. Foster's career was making an excellent start. Working for the FBI wasn't exactly what she had planned for when she began her degree, but she liked it better than she had anticipated. The way she saw it, not only was she helping people who wouldn't normally go to a psychiatrist, but she was helping the people who served her country. There had to be a certain honor in that. Besides, she found that she was quite good at it. Once, she had been a woman who thought she would spend her life just getting by. Now, it seemed that Uncle Sam had a bright future in store for Dr. Foster.

Alec, on the other hand, had more of a struggle ahead of him. It was through the stories told over their macaroni dinners that she learned how truly vicious politics could be, especially to a man who got his foot in the door by campaigning for the losing side. Still, he went bravely off to battle every day, and she was ecstatic when heard that her husband had finally gotten a promotion. With the new income, maybe they could afford to go out every once in a while. Mrs. Foster was more than happy with macaroni and cheese, of course, but a steak dinner every once in a while would be nice. It seemed that they were one step closer to having a home life that matched their wardrobes, the life that Alec had promised her the first day she had stepped foot in the apartment. She wouldn't mind living like this forever, but a step up the ladder might be nice.

And it _was_ nice, for a while. But the new job meant new responsibilities, and new responsibilities meant longer hours. As proud as she was of him, she wasn't used to spending her evenings alone while Alec went to meetings and shuffled papers. When she grew sick of coming home to an empty house, she decided that her time would be better spent doing research and publishing more papers. She would never say it aloud, but even though her hard work was getting attention, Dr. Foster still missed the hours she used to spend being Mrs. Foster.

The irony was that the work functions, the kind that had scared Gillian to tears, had turned into something that Mrs. Foster looked forward to. As stuffy and formal as these events were, they gave her the precious opportunity to spend the entire evening on her husband's arm if she felt so inclined. On a more professional note, it was also very productive for networking. And the food wasn't too bad.

It was at one of these functions when she had managed to secure a rich chocolate mousse and was eating it happily while she waited for Alec to come back from the restroom. She plunged a spoon into the soft, silky mass and brought it up to her lips. The moment her tongue met the concoction, the buzzing of the room disappeared, and she found that all of the worrying she'd been doing over her patients melted away. With a second bite, she arched her back and let out a very contented sigh.

Behind her, a throat cleared. "Gill?"

She turned around quickly to see that her husband had returned with two strangers in tow.

"Gillian, this is Dr. Cal Lightman and his wife, Zoe. Dr. Lightman works with my department on occasion."

She eyed the couple for a second before putting down her spoon and reaching to shake hands. The wife was tall, with dark, wavy hair and a snarky expression. The husband stood a few inches shorter than his spouse, hunched over in a rumpled dark suit with eyes that pierced right through her.

"It's nice to meet you," she said, uncomfortable making eye contact with either. "Dr. Lightman, I've heard about your research in lie detection. It seems fascinating." When she finished speaking, he leaned in and looked right into her eyes.

"You really mean that," he said. She hadn't realized that he was English.

"I, uh, of course I mean it." She gave an embarrassed smile. "Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Because you're a liar." He smiled at her confused reaction. "Oh, don't worry—everybody is, especially at parties like this one."

"Oh." Was it really possible to be less comfortable than she was? And when would he stop staring at her?

"Ah, well. I'll catch you in a lie some time, Dr. Foster. Until then, cheers."

With that, he nodded to Alec and walked off to the bar. His wife managed to mumble an annoyed apology before following suit. As the Fosters watched the Lightmans walk off, Alec smiled at the mousse that was still on the table.

"Why is it that whenever I come back to you, you're eating sweets? Not that I don't approve," he said, flashing an amused smile, "but if you ever need a twelve-step program to get off of that stuff, I think I can help you."

"If that's what it takes to spend more time together, then it might be worth it." She stopped smiling when she saw that the expression on his face had grown dark. "Honey, is something wrong?"

"I, uh, I've got another meeting tonight."

"More work?"

"No. It's a . . ." He looked around to make sure their conversation was private. "I'm getting a new sponsor. She lives in Restin, and this was the only time we could meet. I'll cancel if you want me to."

"No," she said, affectionately straitening out his suit coat. "I know how important that is. Wait, you said 'she?'" She waited for him to nod in response. "I thought having a sponsor of the opposite sex was against NA policy."

He shrugged. "She's the daughter of the professor who got me into the program, so they bent the rules a little."

"When can I meet her?"

"I don't know, hopefully soon. Anyway, it's a nice night out. How about we take a walk before I have to leave?"

She smiled and, finishing off the last of the mousse, she took his arm. As they entered the hallway on the way out, she caught something in the corner of her eye that turned out to be nothing other than Dr. and Mrs. Lightman kissing quite passionately in the shadows. She thought she saw him unzip his pants before they disappeared into a room.

"What?" Alec asked when he heard her giggle.

"Oh, nothing. Just observing some intriguing human behavior."

That night, she managed to find a copy of Dr. Lightman's dissertation and read the entire thing cover to cover before Alec got home.

* * *

Step Eight

It was on their fourth anniversary that Alec managed to get the entire day off to spend with his wife. They had spent a lazy morning in bed when Alec got an envelope out of a drawer in the nightstand and waved it playfully in front of Mrs. Foster's face until she snatched it.

"What is it?"

"Why don't you open it and find out?"

She wasn't quite sure what to make of the contents: two round-trip tickets to Durham, of all places.

"We couldn't go see a Broadway show?" She smiled to make sure he knew that she was more confused than disappointed.

"I thought that after four years, we could go back to where it all started. I thought we could have dinner at Luigi's again."

It was at that moment that Mrs. Foster grabbed her husband by his undershirt and pulled his mouth onto hers, only thinking of the hour they would spend in very close quarters on their way to memory lane.

The restaurant was just as she had remembered it, from the lighting to the live music. She was especially thrilled to reacquaint herself with the dessert cart. At Alec's insistence, they once again ordered dessert first, and once again, he chose an excellent bottle of wine. This time, the only real difference was that she knew for a fact how good the wine was going to be. The whole evening was perfect, especially when, between sips, Alec put his arm around his wife and whispered gently into her ear.

"I have some really good news for you, Dear."

"Oh? I can't think of anything that could possibly be better than this."

He laughed. "I can." She could feel his free hand take hers. "What if I could tell you that we're going to pay off all of our student loans by next month?"

She turned to him in shock. "Alec, really? I didn't know we were that close."

"Yup," he answered, kissing her hand, "I did all of the math. Can you imagine the income that we'll free up?"

"So, you're saying that we can start trying?"

He paused and turned so he could make eye contact. "Trying for what?"

"Trying for a baby. We agreed that after we got out of debt, we could start a family."

The arm that was around her neck retreated, and there seemed to be a sudden chill in the air.

"Gill, I don't know about that. I was thinking that we could use the money for a bigger apartment, maybe another car."

"I don't care about cars or apartments. I want to start a family." She looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. "I thought you wanted that, too."

"I do, I do, it's just . . . I don't think that it's the right time yet. Children require attention, and unless one of us is willing to quit and stay home, we'll have to hire a nanny. Is that what you want?"

"Is that what we can afford?"

"I, uh, I don't know. We'll have to run the numbers." He looked at his lap, then back at her. "You really would want someone else to raise our child?"

"I'm willing to do what it takes to have a child, Alec. All you seem to want to do is make up excuses." Suddenly, she found that the food she had ordered wasn't as good as it was five minutes ago. The trickles of tears that had found their way onto her plate had ruined the taste.

"Gillian, please don't cry."

"I'll appreciate it if you don't tell me what to do."

"Sorry, I just—I just don't see how it's practical, that's all. It's a big life change."

"It's a promise that you made me when I agreed to marry you, just like you promised that you wouldn't use again. Remember what I told you I'd do if you broke those promises?"

Alec sighed and lowered his head. "You said that you'd leave me." It wasn't until he raised his head again that she saw the hint of anger in his eyes. "Are you going to leave me, Gillian?"

"You promised me that we would start a family after we were done with the student loans."

"I know, but . . ."

"And you can make up all the excuses you want, but I _know _the problem is psychological."

"Hey, don't start shrinking my head!"

Now, _she_ sighed. "Of course I'm not going to leave you, Alec. But I want to be a mom, more than anything in this world. I'm not going to let your insecurities take that away from me."

A stunned Alec watched her throw down her napkin and retreat into the woman's room.

The flight home was a quiet one. At one point, she caught him muttering something about how if this was how the fourth anniversary went, the fifth would be a doozy. She didn't dignify it with any sort of acknowledgement.

When they finally got home, he went straight to bed while she went to the side of the apartment that was most like a kitchen. After a fight like this, the two desserts she'd had at dinner just weren't enough. She frowned at the almost empty cupboards, thumbing through boxes of macaroni and ramen until she found a box of instant pudding and sighed.

Before her marriage, Gillian would have said that pudding was just a poor man's ice cream. When they had to afford two professional wardrobes and pay off student loans, Dr. Foster was willing to trade ice cream and chiffon cake for pudding and slushies. As she poured three cups of milk into the bowl and grabbed a whisk, she mentally cataloged everything Alec had said or done during dinner, growing frustrated when a psychological explanation didn't come to her. By the time the pudding had set and she'd dished herself a generous serving, she pulled a chair up to the bed and watched her sleeping husband as if doing so would give her clues.

With an empty mixing bowl in the sink, Dr. Foster, or Mrs. Foster, or Gillian grabbed her calendar, crossed off the date, and frowned. There had to be a better way to spend the tenth of September.


	5. Steps Nine & Ten

Step Nine

Gillian, plain old Gillian, was in sweats on the floor, practically convulsing with sobs. Every few minutes, she found the courage to take a glance at the television and watch the footage of the crash just one more time, but then she would tear her eyes away and sob some more.

The other side of the bed had been empty when she had woken up that morning, and she'd felt relieved. Normally, when he had early meetings, he would wake her up to kiss her on his way out the door. After the fight the night before, he must not have been in the mood.

She found herself waking up a full fifteen minutes before her alarm went off, which seemed to be the perfect end to a fitful night of sleep. The television was supposed to pass her extra time and help ease her mind, but the images that appeared when she pressed the power button were more horrifying than any nightmare she'd ever had. She had scrambled to the calendar she'd looked at with so much contempt the night before and saw the words she feared most in Alec's own handwriting: his early meeting was at the Pentagon.

The Pentagon had just been attacked by terrorists.

She had tried to call someone, anyone to find out if her husband was still alive, but she couldn't get through. So she waited. She sat on the floor, watched the news, and waited in perfect agony.

What was the last thing she had said to him? She closed her eyes to recall the words that had passed through her lips, then they came to her: _I want to be a mom, more than anything in this world. I'm not going to let your insecurities take that away from me._

No, what she wanted more than anything in the world was to see Alec's face again. He could be dying, or dismembered, or worse, and the last time they'd talked, she had threatened to leave him. How could she have said that? How could she have even thought it? She knew now that she had completely overreacted, and she had done it after he had been so good to her. The guilt was eating away at her stomach worse than an ulcer.

The news said that out of the eighteen thousand people who had been working in the Pentagon that day, most had been evacuated within the first half hour. What they didn't say was _who _had been rescued. And what if there was going to be another attack? There was no way of knowing if he was alive or dead. So, the tears came back, and they didn't stop. She cried for so long that she wasn't sure how much time had passed before her eyes grew to heavy and she was too weak to stay awake.

She was awoken by the shrill ring of the phone, and it only took her a second to recollect her senses. As she scrambled for the receiver, a quick look at the TV told her that the world was still upside down.

She put the receiver to her ear not knowing if she was about to hear good news or bad.

She swallowed.

"Hello?"

"Gillian?"

Oh, she knew that voice.

"A-Alec?"

"Yeah, Honey, it's me. Are you alright?"

The fear that had grown like a cancer inside of her was dissipating with every syllable he uttered.

"Oh God, Alec, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. I'm so, so sorry. All those things I said. I'm so sorry."

"Gill, don't worry about it. I love you."

"I love you too, Alec. I've been worried sick all day."

"Listen, I'm fine, but it's going to be a while before I can get home. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

"Okay. When?"

"I don't know. It's crazy over here, and I've still got to go back to the office and help with damage control. It might not be 'till late."

"Okay, I'm just glad that you're still alive."

"Gill, you don't know how much I want to hold you right now. Do you think you can wait up for me?"

"Of course."

"Okay, well they say I've got to go, Gill. I'll be home as soon as I can, okay? I love you."

"I love you too, Alec. So much."

She put down the receiver in something of a daze. What a roller coaster today had been, and it wasn't over yet. There was still so much waiting to do, and she felt so drained that she found herself staring at the TV and switching from channel to channel, trying to find something that wasn't about death and destruction.

She ended up watching, of all things, _Dora the Explorer_. It gave her a second heartache, but for some reason she couldn't turn it off. Like she was punishing herself for wanting to bring a child into the world.

When another phone call came, she was happy to be distracted from her gruesome thoughts. Maybe Alec managed to get home earlier than she expected.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dr. Foster? This is Dr. Cal Lightman, we met last month. I work with your husband?"

She knew that no one was around to see, but she nodded anyway.

"Yes, we spoke at the banquet. What can I do for you, Dr. Lightman?"

"The White House wants me to put together a team to investigate the . . . to look into what happened today. I've been asking around, and I hear that you might be qualified."

"_Might _be qualified?" If she hadn't spent all day wondering if her husband was alive, and if the man on the other end of the phone hadn't used such a condescending tone, she probably would have let it go. As it was, she didn't really care about being polite.

"Dr. Foster, the science behind the work I do is . . ."

"I'm familiar with the science. I've read all of your papers, and I happen to be one of the best psychologists the FBI has to offer."

"Look, if you don't want the job, I'll just call somebody else. I wanted you because you're the only shrink I've met who doesn't think they're some kind of god, but if I've misjudged you . . ."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I'll help you."

"Right, then. I'd ask you to come in right away, but seeing as there's been a national emergency, I'll have to settle for tomorrow. Until then, Dr. Foster."

She gave another eye roll as she hung up and went into the shower. She couldn't help but feel sorry for . . . what was his wife's name? Zoe? Alec was ten times the man that Lightman jerk was.

It was hours later when Alec creaked the door open to find his wife sitting cross-legged on the bed, holding a scientific journal in one hand and a bowl of pudding in the other. She dropped them both when she saw him.

At first, there were no words, just a crushing embrace made damp by the few tears she had left. He dropped the brown paper bag in his hands and returned the gesture, adding kisses along her neck. She breathed in his ashy scent and held him tighter.

"I almost lost you."

"But you didn't."

"I almost lost you, and after yesterday, and this morning . . ." She pulled away so she could look into his eyes and wipe the dirt from his five o'clock shadow. "I wasn't being fair to you."

He smiled and kissed her again before picking up his bag and leading her to the table. He sat across from her and put the bag in her hands.

"What's this?"

"I got it on the way home. It's for you."

She sent him a quizzical look before she reached inside and felt a large, round object with a lid. She took it out and studied the container for almost a minute before looking up at him.

"Pre-natal vitamins?"

First he smiled, then he looked down at his lap.

"I guess you could say that I had something of a change of heart."

She dropped the bottle and kissed him as hard as she could.

* * *

Step Ten

Seven years.

It took seven full years for the Fosters to get where they were now, sitting on the curb in a dazed silence. After two promotions, a new apartment, two cars, and a blossoming private firm, Mr. and Mrs. Foster sat on the pavement in their work clothes, frozen in place. Her mind was numb, but she was running through the steps she'd taken that had led her to where she was.

First, they bought those books. They had littered their small apartment with manuals on everything from how to conceive to how to change a diaper. Those were the best days, before they'd done the tests, before they found out that she lacked something every other woman had. When the doctor had come into the office with a face that looked like death, Alec had grabbed her hand and put his arm around her. When she locked herself in the bathroom and cried loud enough that the neighbors started banging on the walls, he had rapped quietly on the door and softly begged her to come out. The fear she saw in his eyes, the kind she'd only just learned how to recognize, sent her right back.

The years after that were more than she wanted to remember, but if she was honest with herself, it wasn't all bad. True, the added income from Alec's first promotion had been mostly wasted on the parade of hormone treatments and fertility supplements, but they had managed to save up enough to move into a new apartment. And, whenever she needed to escape her failure at getting pregnant, there was always more work to do. On the really bad days, she would go so far as to help Lightman on another case. Soon, she was at the point where she'd helped him so many times that she didn't mind being around him as much, as he turned out to be rough and prickly only on the outside. It was just getting home every night to face Alec, or worse, facing another pregnancy test, that was so hard. She had spent her whole life taking tests, why couldn't she pass this one? Or the next one? Or any of them? It was like her heart had a small tear, and each time she waited for the blue bars to appear on that stick, she could feel that tear widening, inch by inch. Soon, it would rip open, and there would be nothing left of her. She would be even more broken than she already was.

By the time Alec got promoted again, they'd already tried everything. Homeopathic remedies, in vitro—they'd even considered getting a surrogate. It was an exhausting process for the both of them, and sometimes it wasn't clear which of the Fosters was suffering the most. Alec wasn't only dealing with his loss; he also had to deal with hers, and he wasn't licensed for that. In the end, he was the one who cupped her cheek and told her that they should start saving money for a piece of Lightman's new firm instead of a nursery. She had been offered the position of equity partner, and the more she thought about it, the more she thought that maybe if she caught liars instead of trying to heal them, the tear in her heart would start to close. If she was the mother of a company, maybe it would be something close to enough.

At getting pregnant, she was an absolute failure, but at being part of The Lightman Group—that was where Dr. Foster could shine. She found that her reputation (with a little help from Alec's political influence) landed the firm a lot of clients, and after years of scrimping and saving with her husband, handling the fiscal decisions of a business was second nature. Maybe the Fosters couldn't raise a child, but together, Drs. Foster and Lightman managed to raise their business into quite a success. She discovered that Lightman was perhaps the best business partner she could ever have, and an even better friend. He would take charge in some areas, she would handle others, and at the end of the day, they were helping people. And they were very good at it.

Suddenly, Gillian Foster realized that out of everything she had ever wanted, there was only one thing she was missing. One thing among thousands. After a year in business with Cal, they were breaking even. After two, she was making more money than she had ever earned before. It wasn't easy, and she was spending more hours in the office than she ever thought she would, but it was enough to buy her the lifestyle that her clothes had pretended to have. It felt good to only have one life to live, even if the price was that she had less time to spend with her husband. If the rest of her life was going so well, did she really need a child? In between spoonfuls of pudding, she would tell herself she didn't.

She would have been fine if Cal was either a horrible father or a good husband. Once Cal's marriage started falling apart, and his fights with Zoe found their way into the office, a curly-haired stranger would squeak open the door and wordlessly ask for shelter from the storm. When Emily Lightman was in her lap, sometimes crying, other times quiet, Dr. Foster was Gillian again, and Gillian would crave the feeling of holding a child as she sat alone in a dark office. It was after Zoe left Cal for good and Emily became a more permanent resident that Gillian realized that if she didn't try something, she would never be able to forgive herself.

"How was work, Honey?" Alec said one day, kissing her on the forehead as he put his briefcase down. He had a bag of Chinese food in the other hand, and had turned his back to her to set in on the kitchen table when she said:

"I found us a baby."

"Excuse me?"

She had seen that look on so many faces, but she'd only seen it on Alec's face the first time she'd kissed him. It was shock—the kind that was too potent to come with any other emotion at onset. It was what happened after the shock wore off that would tell her what she needed to know.

"It's the case Cal and I have been working on. We've been looking into the governor of Delaware, to determine if he's been embezzling state money."

Alec nodded. "You told me."

"Well, today we found out that he's not only guilty, but he's been using the money he stole to support a mistress. Alec, she's carrying his child."

"I still don't understand."

She got closer to him, one step at a time, until she could smell his fading aftershave.

"With the money now cut off, the mistress—her name is Willow—doesn't want the baby anymore. She was planning on having an abortion and finding another John. I convinced her to keep the child."

She had her hands on his upper arms now, so excited that she could barely contain herself. She could see that Alec was trying his very best to keep calm.

"And you want us . . . to adopt him?"

"Her," she corrected, "the baby's a girl. I wanted to talk to you about it first, but if you want to, we could have a child in two months."

"Two months? From _now_?"

"What do you think?"

"I think that I have to sit down."

It took all of her patience to watch him sit stoically on the couch, rubbing his forehead and mumbling to himself. Occasionally, he would look up at her to ask a question, and she was happy to show him that she'd already done her research. It took him an hour to say yes. It took Willow sixty-seven days to give birth to their new daughter.

It took Willow only fifty-seven days to take their daughter back.

And there they were, Mr. and Mrs. Foster, sitting heartbroken on the curb, watching their only daughter drive away. After seven years of trying to have a child, they'd managed to hold on to one for fifty-seven days.

It was dusk when she decided she was too cold to stay there any longer, but when she stood up, Alec didn't want to come with her. With her heart broken twice, she walked away in a stupor, seeking something warm, finding nothing that could keep the cold out.

It wasn't until she awoke the next morning, still shivering, that she realized that his side of the bed hadn't been slept in. Rubbing her eyes, she left the bedroom to see if he had crashed on the couch, and when she blinked at the light pouring in from the windows, there he was. Dead asleep, exactly where she expected him to be.

He had a small packet of cocaine in his hand.


	6. Step Eleven

Step Eleven

"Gill, I'm using again."

"I know."

The first time she saw it, she had hoped it was a one-time occurrence. She had told herself that after what Alec had gone through, it was natural for him to have a moment of weakness.

But she kept watching.

Every time he came home with that nervous look about him, she knew. She pulled him in close, put her hands on his chest, and felt his speeding heart rate. She looked lovingly into his eyes and saw that they were bloodshot. Then, when she leaned in and saw the trace of a bloody nose, she kissed him as hard and as passionately as she could, as if to beg him to use her as an escape instead. And instead of calling him out on it right then and there, she had waited for him to come clean on his own terms. She noted the date on the calendar—it had been fifty-seven days. Fifty-seven days of lying and hiding. Fifty-seven days into his new double life.

"So, what do we do now?"

She gave him a good, hard look, noticing every feature in his face, analyzing his expression like she would a suspect. She saw it all—the shame, the regret. But it was the pain that pierced her heart and made it bleed for him. That pain was all too familiar.

"Do you want to be clean again?"

"Yes, of course."

She knew he meant it.

"Then we work through this together. You and me."

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead.

"I don't deserve you, you know."

"We all have problems, Honey. Marriage is about fixing them together."

"You should put that on a refrigerator magnet."

She kissed him back.

"Quiet, you."

She had always imagined that this day could come. Her Ph.D. told her from the beginning that no matter what he did, he had been a cocaine addict, once. There would always be a part of him that craved cocaine, no matter how much she wanted to believe that he was cured. Time and time again, as Alec would kiss her on the way out to his NA meetings, she would think about what she would do if her husband gave into his demons. But for eleven years, he hadn't. What was eleven years compared to fifty-seven days?

And after all, wasn't this just a coping mechanism? Wasn't Alec's drug use just his method of handling complex emotions? Well, complex emotions were her wheelhouse. If anyone could help him, she could. And maybe the pain that was bubbling and festering inside of her would finally find a release. Maybe overcoming this shared hardship would help close the distance that had been growing between them ever since her business had started taking off.

It was just possible that Alec's drug use was exactly the thing their marriage needed.

When he kissed her one more time and headed towards the bedroom, she waited until he closed the door before she reached into his briefcase, pulled out his phone, and called his sponsor.

***

Alec was shocked when his wife burst through the front door and slapped her purse on the table.

"What's wrong?"

"I know what you're doing."

When they locked eyes, she gave him a look that could melt steel. He broke eye contact and stared at his shoes.

She almost slapped him right there. Instead, she lowered her voice to a firm, biting growl. "I hired a new employee a few days ago, Alec. You met her the other day, remember? When I helped you lie to her?"

"Y-yeah, I remember. Ria, right?"

"She was screening bags at the airport when we found her, so she needed some help picking out a professional wardrobe. Do you know what happened to me when I tried to check out?"

"Gill . . ."

"There's no money in our account, Alec. We're missing somewhere around thirty thousand dollars. Now, I have enough to do with the books at the office to know when the numbers don't add up. Someone withdrew that money, and I know that I'm not the one who took it."

"Gill, it's not what you think."

The rage boiling inside of her was new and frightening. Her fists were clenched so tightly that she could feel the fingernails digging into her skin.

"What I think, Alec, is that you've been stealing money from our account so that you can buy coke. Are you going to tell me that that's not the case?"

He lowered his head again. "It was the last time, Honey. I swear."

"Well, it had better be the last time, considering that we don't have any money left for you to steal." She flared her nostrils and let out a hot breath. "I'm calling the bank tomorrow and taking your name off of the account. Until you're clean again, all the money you get your hands on is going through me first."

"What? You can't do that!"

"No, what I can't do is come home and babysit you after I spend all day cleaning up after Cal. Even he wouldn't do something like this to me. You promised that this was never going to happen."

"I swear, it's over. I'm never going to touch the stuff again."

He looked so sad with his head hanging down. No, it was pathetic. In just a few months, he had changed from the strong, confidant man she loved into something weak and frail. She would pity him if she didn't feel so betrayed.

"If I could count the times you've said that to me . . ."

"I mean it, Gill. I'll prove it: look at my face. Can't you see that I'm telling the truth?"

A breath in and out and the pity was there. She tried to push it out and keep her anger in, but it was no use. This time, he really was sincere. She could hear it in his voice. She closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose, and tried to remind herself that she loved him.

"Look, I know that I said we'd work through this together, but you crossed a line. You'd better not ever use again, Alec. Because if you don't keep your promises, I swear to you, I'll keep mine."

***

She sat down in the booth and tried not to cry when she saw him.

"So, who was it?"

"Huh?"

Alec cocked his head in an attempt to appear inquisitive, but he couldn't overshadow the disappointment on his face.

"At the wedding today," he said, playing with his fork, "Who was trying to shoot the ambassador?"

"Oh, that." She couldn't even bear to look him in the eye. "It wasn't about the ambassador, after all. The bride had an ex-husband who couldn't let go."

"Ah."

She knew that tone.

"Alec, I'm so sorry."

"You stopped me from going to an NA meeting, and it wasn't even a political threat?"

Alec had never been the kind of man who got angry, in fact, the hard truth was that while she had raised her voice on occasion, he never had. As he sat across from her, his words were slow and full of a mix of pain and bitterness that made his wife feel like a traitor. The moment he said that he had a meeting in Restin, she had understood the code. He had given her a clear choice: break the rules, or keep him from getting help. Maybe she was a traitor after all.

"Yeah, I guess I did. If I could have figured it out earlier . . ."

"You know, Lightman knew I wasn't going to a work meeting? He called me out on it. To my face."

"He does that everyone, Honey. Even to me."

"He should hold back a little, for the husband of his business partner."

"I think he does."

The silence that he poured over the table was so piercing that the ambiance of the restaurant seemed to still. Mrs. Foster made herself busy picking lint off of her black dress.

"How long have you been clean, Alec?" The question came out like a shot, but hung in the air as if frozen in time. She wasn't sure whether to be proud or regret it.

"Since you found out about the bank account, why?" He tightened his lips. "Oh, don't read me at a time like this. Please."

"Sorry, I just had to know. If you took a hit because I kept you at the wedding . . . I'm so sorry, Alec."

Now, the silence was unbearable. He took her hand and lifted her chin so she could see the honesty in his eyes.

"I'm clean, Gill. I swear I am. And if I wasn't, it wouldn't be your fault." He leaned into his chair and let out a breath. "You know . . . you were right. I shouldn't have asked you to let me go, it's just . . . the cravings were so strong. I was shaking."

She sipped her wine. "I know. I wanted so much to help you. It killed me to see you suffer like that."

She reached out for his hand, but he pulled away.

"But your job came first. I get it."

"Alec . . ."

"No, Gill. It's okay. The work you do is important, and my demons shouldn't stop you from finding the bad guy."

She put down her wine glass hard enough to create a red spill on the tablecloth.

"Okay, now you're playing the martyr. Look, I'm sorry that I kept you from your support group, but that doesn't mean you can attack my work. I caught a criminal, Alec. He was a sick man, and thanks to Cal and me, he's not going to hurt anybody else."

"Fine, I take it back. You're perfect, Gillian. You always were. Heaven knows you're way too good for an addict like me."

"Alec . . ."

"Gill, I know that your work is important. I mean that. But sometimes I wonder if it's more important to you than I am."

"Well, I have never wondered about it," she lied. "I got stuck between a rock and a hard place, that's all. It doesn't mean that I've stopped loving you."

Alec poured the last drops of wine into his mouth and let the flavor soak on his tongue as he thought. She saw every step of the silent journey he was making: self-pity, disgust, anger, guilt, and finally, shame and compassion.

"You know, you've forgiven me so many times, I'd be stupid if I didn't let this go. After all, you did the right thing, and I'm serious this time. It was my fault."

She gave a pained smile.

"Thanks, Honey."

***

She closed her eyes and stood outside the door for a moment, savoring the quiet solitude before taking a breath and opening the door.

"Hey, Gill."

If this was a year ago, she wouldn't have thought anything of what she saw when she entered the apartment. Last year, it would have been just like every other day. But it had been months since she'd come home to find him reading on the couch, with his tie loosened and his feet on the coffee table. It was like stepping back in time.

If she didn't love him, she would have turned to run.

"I have something to tell you," she said, the words feeling strange as her mouth formed them. He would know instantly that her news was bad.

"What is it? Do you want some wine first?"

She shook her head, too busy trying to think of how to say what she had to say than to answer his question. She was still in the entryway, still holding her purse and keys as if going any closer to him would be some sort of violation.

As she lowered her head, she caught a glimpse of Alec preparing himself for the worst.

"I told Cal about your habit."

There. It was said. That part was over.

"You what?" He nervously rubbed his forehead. "Who else have you told? This can't get out, Gill. It can't get out."

Now, she could leave her purse on the floor and go to him. She sat next to him on the couch and put a reassuring hand on his knee.

"Do you think I wanted to tell him? I promise, in all the time we've known each other, I've never told a soul. I've done everything I can to help you lie."

"So why did you tell Lightman?"

"He notices things, Alec. He knew you were lying about where you've been spending your evenings, and he thought you were cheating on me."

Disgust was written all over his face at the thought.

"He thought that . . . about me? How could he? I've known him longer than you have!"

"Alec . . ."

"Gill, you know I'd never do that to you."

"I know."

"And you told that to Lightman?"

She sighed. "He was concerned, and you know how he is. He doesn't stop until he finds the answer. If I hadn't told him, he would have kept digging until he learned the truth. I saved him the trouble."

"And he'll keep our secret?"

"You mean will he expose _your _lie? Of course not."

"Wait, _my _lie? What's going on? You're upset about something, and it's not Lightman."

Another breath. Soon, this would be over. Just put one foot in front of the other.

"Christine came to see me again, at work. That's who Cal thought you were having the affair with."

"What did Christine have say?"

"I don't know, Alec, she's only your sponsor. What do you think she had to say? She told me that you've been lying to me. You've been getting your coke money from work."

"Gill, I know how it sounds, but a lot of that money is going to pork barrel projects. No one misses a thousand here or there. Besides, I'm going to pay it all back."

"You're stealing from the government."

"The government has a lot of money. They hardly know what to do with it all. And I pay taxes." He shook his head. "Christine shouldn't have told you."

"Alec, if you're not going to tell me, then someone has to."

"I thought you could read it all in my face."

"That doesn't mean that we're not supposed to talk anymore!" She realized that she was yelling at him, and she made herself calm down. There's no way she was going to start screaming if he didn't have the decency to scream back. "Alec, it's been almost a year since we lost Sophie, and we haven't even talked about it once."

"Yes, we did."

"We talked about not talking about it. That doesn't count."

He took her hand in his, unable to look up at her.

"I told you before, I'm no good at this. It's who I am."

"Alec, if we can't have a conversation about what's going on in our lives, then there's no way we can get through this. I look at you, and all I can see is an addict who can't handle himself and refuses his wife's help."

"I'm still me, Gill. I'm an addict, and I always was. The only thing the coke does is make it easier for you to see who I really am."

"Funny, I thought I knew who you really were."

"You knew that I had two lives. What you didn't know is which one would end up being reality.

"What, so this is your reality now? Embezzling from the United States government and snorting narcotics?"

He shrugged. "I thought I could make it. I thought I could change and be whatever it was that you needed me to be. Now, I can't."

She folded her arms and stared him down, observing every pore of his face and every twitch in his body.

"Fine. There's only one thing that we can do, then. If Christine and I can't help you, then I'm sending you to someone who can."

It took him a second to realize her meaning, but she saw the moment when his eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open.

"_Rehab_? You want me to go to rehab?"

"When you start committing treason to pay your dealer, then I think it's time." She stopped, and ran her tongue around the bad taste those words left in her mouth. "I've done some research, and I've narrowed it down to a couple of places. We'll pick whatever you feel the most comfortable with."

"I've never done rehab before, Gill. I've always done it on my own."

"Yes, and that's worked out marvelously." She sighed, letting her face show him that he wasn't going to win this one. "Alec, it's rehab or I leave. For good."

He searched her eyes to verify her words, and when he seemed satisfied, he leaned in to kiss her on the forehead. Then, without a word, he stood and went to the bedroom, leaving her alone to process what had just happened. First the case, then Cal, and now Alec—today had been full of hard choices and heavy topics.

She actually smiled when she remembered the discussion she'd had with Cal just before leaving work. The idea that Alec was having an affair was, after all, hilarious. Alec didn't need a mistress. In a way, he already had a lover that came in small packets of white powder. Cocaine had been a part of Alec's life long before she ever knew him, and had a deeper hold on her husband than she ever could.

And then, after twelve years of waking up next to the same man, she saw their relationship for what it truly was.

In Alec's heart, Gillian had always been the mistress.

The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the truth. Cocaine was Alec's true life companion; Gillian was simply the other woman. The distraction. The side dish. The woman who you told you loved so you could live two lives at once. And this whole time, she had thought that Alec would choose her! What a fool she had been for thinking that he would leave his addiction. She should have seen this coming. She shouldn't have been so stupid.

She could hear him packing as she sipped a slushie and tried to figure out how to on Earth she was supposed to return embezzled money to the U.S. Government.

* * *

AN: The last chapter will be up tomorrow! See you then!


	7. Step Twelve

Step Twelve

Three weeks seemed like an eternity when Alec left. Now, she knew it wasn't long enough.

It's a funny thing, being alone. Or, in other words, being left behind. When she gave him his ultimatum, the words had given her a bitterness in her stomach, and even as she watched him go out the door, she had been fighting every instinct to grab him and hold him close. It wasn't until the day after he left that she realized how much she liked the empty apartment. It took her a full week to not feel guilty about it.

The fact of the matter was that with Alec gone, there weren't any lies. She didn't have to pretend to believe him when he said he was staying late for work—not in front of Cal, or Ria, or anyone. All she had to say now was that he was at a retreat in Montana, which was absolutely true.

And the truth, well, it felt good.

It was only going to last for one more day. Alec's flight was coming in the middle of the night, and he'd already booked a cab to take him back from the airport. Tomorrow, she would wake up, he would be there, and the lies would start all over again. Even if he was honest with her, and he managed to stay clean for another eleven years, they would still have to stand together and lie to the world.

It really hadn't bothered her before she met Cal. She used to think that everybody had secrets, and since there were skeletons in every closet, there was nothing wrong with keeping one or two next to her dresses. It wasn't until she made a living looking for those skeletons that she realized how harmful they could be.

Lies, in themselves, were very simple things. You say that something is when it isn't or vice versa—there were few things simpler than that. The consequences of lying, however, were so infinitely complex that it was nearly impossible for anyone to anticipate them all. Did the mother of the overachiever predict that cheating would dig her daughter's grave? Did the daughter-in-law of the Korean ambassador think that lying about her name would get her husband shot? Did the construction worker foresee that hiding his illness could trap him underneath a ton of concrete? None of them had intended any harm, yet harm was exactly what had happened. All because of simple lies.

It hadn't seemed like a lie at first—she had thought of it as more of an omission, or an issue of privacy. She had done it to protect Alec, because no one would see him for who he was if they saw the sins of his past. But if she was truly honest with herself, the lies they told stretched much farther than cocaine. After all, hadn't they spent the better part of a decade convincing people that they had more money than they did? And yet, they had been happy. It was only when the lie became the truth that things got so hard. When he was lying, and she had become an honest woman, something had changed forever.

Of course, their life would be different if she and Alec had been open from the beginning. Alec would have never gotten a decent job, and they wouldn't have had a chance at getting Sophie. It was worth it to lie for so many years just for those fifty-seven days of being a mother. Would it be worth it to lie for the rest of her life?

If she were anyone else, the deception would make her normal, but with her line of work, she would be a fraud.

And, perhaps worst of all, Cal would be disappointed with her.

The choice was clear: she could either lie to Cal or leave Alec. There was no way to be loyal to both, she could see that now. Of all the people she had met in her life, there had been two who had taken her out of her comfort zone and believed in her enough to help her find herself. She wouldn't be who she was without either of them, there was no denying that. So how could she choose? If she chose Cal, would she be forgetting how Alec took her as a frumpy grad student and changed her into a princess? If she chose Alec, would her lies eventually intersect with others and hurt somebody else? They'd already hurt the government she'd spent the majority of her career serving.

It wasn't until the next morning, Alec's first day back from rehab, when she looked in the mirror and saw the dishonesty in her own reflection, that she was able to make her decision.

"Alec, I think we should separate."

He looked up from his cereal in shock, too overcome by the surprise of her announcement to even attempt to put words into his open mouth.

"This isn't just about the cocaine. Do you remember what it used to be like? We used to be poor and happy, but we've lost that. We're both miserable, and pretending that we aren't. I just can't do that anymore. Your second life—it's crushing me. I have to get out of here while I still have a shred of self-respect. I'm moving out."

Alec still hadn't managed to utter a word before her phone rang, and she had to rush into work. She liked it better that way.

Hours later, when she saw his name on her caller ID, she had an inner debate before answering.

"Hello?"

"I just wanted to call to see if you're alright. I heard you're working that case with the suicide bombers."

"Yeah, we're all working on it."

"And you're being careful? You've got your FBI agent staying close?"

"Alec . . ."

"I just want you to be safe."

"Why does a kid have to blow himself up before you start to care about me?"

"Gill . . ."

"I lost my daughter, Alec. I had someone that I loved as much as I loved you, and I got her ripped away from me, but did you ever ask me how I was handling it? And now, now that bombs are going off, you suddenly care? I can't handle that, with all that's going on. I can't."

"I do care about you. I married you, didn't I?"

"Now is not the time to be talking about this."

"Well, fine. I'm just happy to know that you're okay."

"Yeah, y-yeah. I'm glad that you called, too."

"And if there's anything I can do to have you back in my life . . ."

"Don't. Don't!"

"Gill . . ."

"Look, I'm glad that you called, but I just can't do this, okay?"

She hung up on him as soon as she heard the door open, then turned to see Cal in his usual black, rumpled outfit.

"Y'alright?"

She brushed the hair out of her eyes and told him one more lie.

The phone call was a bit ironic, she could admit that. She was the shrink, and Alec was supposed to be the one who didn't like talking about his feelings. She had the distinct impression, though, that if she let him explain himself, she'd fall in love with him all over again.

Alec had been perfect for her, once. If she could only stop herself from seeing the truth, and make herself believe in the fairy tale that she had spun years ago with her roommates, then maybe he could be perfect for her again. Lying to herself, however, was something that Dr. Gillian Foster, deception expert, couldn't do.

It was time to take the final step.

Packing up her life was a lot easier than she thought. There were the clothes, of course, her toiletries, and a couple of keepsakes that she had hoarded over the years. She wasn't very interested in the rest. It was time for a clean break.

The last box was heavy in her tired arms, but the exercise of pulling, pushing, and carrying felt oddly satisfying. This was far more than just moving out—it was the final step in a cleansing process. She was purging from her soul the secrets and the lies of an addict, stripping away all foreign bodies until only the truth remained. Standing on the threshold of the apartment that was no longer hers, she counted the steps it would take from where she was to the car parked in the driveway: twelve. The minute the box was in her car, everything that had been weighing her down would be purged forever, and she could be clean again. All it took was twelve steps, and twelve years of marriage would be wiped clean.

She climbed into her car, put the key in the ignition, and started her new life.

She couldn't remember a time when she felt more free.

THE END

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A/N: Aaaaaaand that's all, folks. I hope you enjoyed this journey at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you again for your kind reviews. You guys are the reason I keep posting here. :)


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